Bells
by aliceforgryffindor
Summary: Panic sweeps Gotham as the Joker starts a city-wide scourge of morality. Isabelle gets caught in the middle, and the Joker finds a new plaything. J/OC Nolanverse rated M for violence, language. R&R!
1. Chapter 1

**Hey there! Here's my take on the Nolanverse Joker, during the events of the Dark Knight. Let me tell you now, this is **_**not **_**going to be light and fluffy. I'm well aware that the Joker is not a sane guy, and to be honest I can't stand reading fanfics about how the Joker gets reformed by falling in love or something like that. I know some people like that, but not me. Each to his own, right?**

**Anyway, happy reading!**

**xo Alice**

**Disclaimer: All original characters that can be recognised from the Dark Knight Trilogy franchise or Batman/Joker comic books, are not owned by me. Anything you don't recognise is my own creation. This will stand for each chapter.**

1

Isabelle picked her way through the busy street, headed for Gotham's biggest bank. It was common knowledge that the bank where she planned to get a new credit card was owned by the mob, but Isabelle was out of time and out of ideas. When the next closest bank was in an entirely different area of town, your car has wheezed it's last wheeze, and you're wearing your highest heels, well, what's a girl to do? Sometimes it's the mob or no dice. Or, at least, the mob or feet in serious pain the next day.

Isabelle finally reached the bank, and heaved open the heavy glass doors. She was a tall girl, but she still struggled with them. Inside the bank it was quiet and still. The other customers didn't speak to each other, communicating only with the tellers before, relieved, they were back onto the Gotham streets.

Isabelle picked the nicest looking teller and made her way over. After explaining what she wanted in a hushed voice – the blonde scrunched her nose up, as if it was Isabelle's fault her credit card had been stolen during an unadvised trip to the Narrows – Isabelle gladly made her way to the double doors, intent on a coffee and a newspaper from the cute little café across the street.

Screams.

Isabelle spun around, looking for the source of the noise. This proved to be a mistake. If she had just taken that one step out the door she would have been home free.

Unaware of this, Isabelle peered slowly around the door alcove. What she saw made her heart stop. Two men, one tall, one short, each carrying a gun. It wasn't the guns, however, that made her palms sweat. It was the _masks_. Crime wasn't new to Gotham. In fact, crime was very common, and almost expected. It would be a strange day when the news didn't report at least one robbery, heist, or murder. But the mobs that ran the crime rings throughout the city were straightforward and predictable. They all wanted everyone to know exactly who had committed which crime. They didn't wear _masks_. Especially not masks of this calibre. A clown face was painted onto each one, ugly and menacing.

_Clowns_, thought Isabelle, shrinking back into the wall, _why did it have to be clowns?_ Isabelle had never told anyone, but she had a phobia of clowns. Especially, it seemed, clowns holding guns.

_The door, the door, go for the door. _Isabelle edged backwards, keeping her eyes on the clowns, who thankfully had their back to her. Her back touched the glass, and she pushed backwards, trying to open them without making a sound. Unfortunately, more force needed to be exerted to get the doors open, not just the slight pressure she was putting on them with her back. Considering she had had trouble opening them with her entire weight on them as she entered the bank, Isabelle realised with a soundless curse that she wouldn't be able to get out without taking her eyes off the clowns. Reluctant to turn her back and expose herself to danger, Isabelle considered her options. Should she take the risk and the split second to turn around and push through the doors, leaving her free to get out and call the police? Or should she try to find another exit, somehow without alerting the armed loons? The first option seemed more likely not to result in her death.

Suddenly an alarm flared, and Isabelle heard the automatic bolt on the doors slide across with a loud _clang_.

_Dammit._

The tall clown stiffened, and turned slowly around. Isabelle couldn't see his eyes through the holes in his mask, but she knew he was staring right at her. Isabelle made a sound she had never made before in her life – somewhere between a squeak and a cough. The clown started to chuckle, punctuating each distinct _ha_, sometimes adding a _hee _or a _hoo_. The overall effect was manic and frightening, and Isabelle slid to the floor as her knees gave way. Her hands, she realised, were shaking. She had never been more terrified.

The clown made his way over, his shoulders hunched and his head protruding like some sort of demented turtle. Isabelle whimpered as he crouched down in front of her.

'You know,' he said quietly, 'I'm a little, uh, offended, that you wanted to skip out on the party.'

Isabelle drew her knees in closer to her chest, and tucked in her chin, not wanting to give this guy the satisfaction of seeing her cry.

'Hey, hey,' he said, a steely note entering his voice. Isabelle felt the barrel of his gun under her chin, forcing her head up to look at him. Isabelle closed her eyes.

'Look at me,' he growled. 'LOOK AT ME!'

She flinched, bringing her eyes up to the holes in his mask. His eyes didn't reflect the light, making it seem as if the holes opened out into black, bottomless pits. His mask was bone white, chipped in places, as if from long use. The cheeks were sharp and with two red spots under the cheekbones, overset by red markings around the eyes, and a nose reminiscent of Rudolph. The blue mouth was turned down in a frown. Isabelle shuddered, and looked back down at her knees. That was a mistake. The butt of the gun hit her hard in her temple, and white lights exploded across her vision. Dazed, Isabelle felt her arms lose their grip on her knees, and her legs slid out, sitting like a marionette with its strings cut against the wall. Her head lolled forward, and she blinked, trying to clear her vision as her head swam. The clown chuckled again.

'Lucky I got my boys to lock up the, uh, building. It would have been a shame for you to miss the big _finale_.'

With that he whipped around with surprising speed as a bus crashed through the far wall, knocking down his comrade holding duffel bags of cash.

Isabelle blinked, sure she was seeing things. _A bus?_

The clown sauntered over, picked up the bags, and made his way to the bus. Isabelle recoiled when she heard him fire a shot at the driver, who slumped over the wheel. Another shot was fired, and the bank manager, who had been creeping around a desk, holding a rifle, clutched his stomach with a guttural moan, blood staining his fingers and white shirt. Isabelle blanched at the copper scent of his blood as it permeated the air. The clown gave a small sound of victory, and vaulted into the bus.

Isabelle slumped back against the wall and sighed softly in relief. Bad move. Somehow, _impossibly_, the clown heard her. He cocked his head, and stepped back down off the bus.

He took off his mask.

Isabelle's eyes widened as she took in his appearance. His hair touched his shoulders, greasy and – _green?_ But it was his face that made her hands tremble and her mouth twitch. White grease paint was smeared over his face, sinking into the scars and lines. His eyes were smudged with black, like permanent bruises. And a terrifying Glasgow smile stretched across his face, puckered and ugly, highlighted messily with a deep red. He grinned, his teeth yellow and glinting, but his scars contorted it into something sinister and wrong.

Isabelle shrunk against the wall as the man made his jittery way over to her, his fingers playing over the gun strapped around his waist.

_Nononononononononononononono._

Deaf to Isabelle's soundless pleas, he once again crouched into front of her, his leather-gloved hand reaching out to touch her face. Isabelle reacted faster than she thought possible. She vaulted away from him, scrambling to her feet.

She had reacted fast, but he reacted faster. His hand snagged her ankle, and she went down, slamming her forehead into the marble floor. Pain shot through Isabelle's head, adding to the dull throbbing that was the result of her pistol-whipping. She groaned, the lights dancing in front of her eyes. She felt the man straddle her back, his gloved fingers trailing down her neck.

She felt his breath in her ear.

'I'm the Joker,' he said softly, 'and I _like_ you.'

Then he slammed her head into the tiles.

* * *

Isabelle groaned as she came to, and opened her eyes. Confused, she closed them. And opened them again. No difference. The darkness was absolute. Isabelle became aware of the heavy throbbing in her head, and for the first time realised that she was tied down.

_Oh my god_, she thought frantically, struggling against her bonds. She was gagged, the coarse rope cutting into her mouth, and tied spread-eagled, her wrists and ankles bound to each separate corner of the… table?

_Oh my god_, Isabelle thought again. _He's going to rape me. He's going to rape me and then kill me. _

Isabelle began to hyperventilate through the gag, her eyes wide and unseeing in the blackness. Suddenly, a bulb clicked on directly above her, blinding her in its light. Her eyes began to water, blinding her anew, and she struggled more frantically. Isabelle heard a light chuckle and snapped her head to the side, trying to find the source of the noise. The Joker was standing at the door, as hunched as ever. His makeup was freshly applied, with a precision that spoke of years of practice.

Isabelle's breathing was completely erratic. She was tied up – completely immobile. This guy was obviously a psychopath. A maniac. Probably a rapist.

The Joker approached her carefully, as if she were a skittish animal that he didn't want to bolt. Isabelle wished she could bolt, but she was fucking _tied up_. He had crossed out of her vision, approaching her from behind her head. Isabelle strained, trying to see him. She couldn't hear him.

The silence was punctuated only by Isabelle's panicked breathing.

'Hmmm.'

Isabelle quieted, holding her breath.

'Are you, uh, having a _good_ time?'

Isabelle glared at the ceiling, mumbling through the gag.

'I didn't quite _catch _that.'

Isabelle mumbled more loudly, the coarseness of the rope cutting her lips.

'You know, _Isabelle_, when I ask a question, I, uh, expect it to be _answered_,' he giggled, knowing full well that she couldn't speak.

_How the fuck does he know my name?!_

Finally she could hear movement, and the Joker crossed to the end of the table. He looked her slowly up and down, a smirk crossing his face. Isabelle _really _wished she hadn't worn a skirt that day. She had never felt so exposed in her entire life. The urge to cross her legs was unbelievably strong, and she pulled against the ropes. The Joker braced his hands on the table, as if testing how much it held, and then quickly vaulted up, standing with a foot on either side of her torso. For a while he stood there, staring down at her, idly flicking a small knife back and forth in his fingers. Isabelle looked up him, her eyes wide and neck straining. From this angle he was even more terrifying. She could appreciate how tall he actually was – somewhere over six feet, but the way he hunched made it impossible to tell.

Suddenly, he dropped to his knees, straddling her stomach. He grinned. It was horrifying. The little knife appeared in his fingers, and the Joker held it above her eyes, excited and playful, like a child showing his parent a toy. The knife dipped, and Isabelle tried to follow it with her eyes, but gave up when it went past her nose. The Joker was the picture of concentration, and Isabelle, looking at him, realised with a jolt that he would actually be quite handsome under the makeup and evil personality.

_Do NOT follow that train of thought_.

'So, _Isabelle_,' he said, drawing out her name. She flinched when he said her name, and his grin widened. The Joker fished around inside his purple trench coat and pulled out Isabelle's wallet, placing it on the edge of the table.

_Ah. So that's how he knew_.

Suddenly, she felt the knife at the corner of her mouth, and Isabelle went completely still. The Joker looked down at her, sensing her train of thought.

'Isabelle, I'm not going to _cut _you,' he said, frowning at her.

Isabelle could have cried in relief.

'Well, not _yet_.'

Before Isabelle had time to process this new information, the Joker brought the knife down to her mouth and made a swift cut. The gag fell away, and Isabelle sucked in a shuddering breath.

'What do you want with me?' she asked, trembling as he trailed a hand across her shoulder.

'Hmm,' he said, 'I just don't _know _yet.'

'You don't _know_?!' Isabelle spat, 'Then why the _hell_ did you kidnap me?'

'Uh uh uh, _careful_, Isabelle,' he murmured, bring the tip of the knife to her throat like a promise. Isabelle leaned back into the table, trying to get as far away from it as she could from it and failing miserably.

'I just like to, uh, _have _things, you see,' he murmured conversationally, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear with his free hand. She glared at him. Suddenly, his entire mood changed, and the hand holding her hair became insistent, tugging so hard that she felt a few strands separate from her scalp, making her cry out in anguish. The knife pressed harder, drawing a bead of blood that she could feel trickling down her neck. Isabelle whimpered. The Joker leaned over her face, so close that had he leaned forward just half an inch their foreheads would have been touching.

'You're _mine_,' he said, pulling hard at her hair, opening up her neck further to him, 'and I'm going to leave you something to, uh, _remember_ me by.'

The knife left her throat and moved instead to the left corner of her mouth. Isabelle froze as the knife moved slowly, _painfully,_ across her cheek in a curve, finishing just an inch to the right of her ear, at the start of her cheekbone. Isabelle desperately probed her cheek with her tongue, hoping to God it hadn't gone all of the way through. It hadn't, but the cut was still painful, and a tear escaped her. The Joker looked at it, as if confused, and touched it with a gloved finger.

'Are you _crying_ for little old me, Bells?' he asked, giggling.

Isabelle tried to speak, but stopped with a gasp as she felt her blood trickle into her mouth. It pooled at the back of her throat, and she choked, retching, trying to cough it up but being unable.

The Joker looked down at in her amusement, 'I would swallow, if I was you.'

Isabelle frantically shook her head. The thought of swallowing her own blood was so foreign, so repulsive, that she couldn't bring herself to. The Joker sighed.

'You know, _Bells_, if you don't swallow, maybe I'll bring my boys up here. And, uh, they're not as _nice _as me.'

Isabelle heard the meaning behind his words. _I'm surrounded by rapists, _she thought hysterically. Realising she had no option, she swallowed, gagging at the metallic taste, and then pressed her mouth shut. The pain in her cheek was horrific, and she knew that she was going to scar. _Just like him_, she thought, _he's marked me now. Everyone will know._

The Joker laughed at her pained expression, and pressed his thumb hard into the cut. Isabelle screamed, a guttural sound that tore itself out her mouth, trying to wrench her face away, to protect herself, to do _something. _But she was tied up and helpless and he was just _so strong_. Darkness crept into her vision, and Isabelle slumped against the desk.

The Joker looked at her prone form, and brought his thumb from the cut. Tsking at the blood now staining his glove, he surveyed his prize.

_I'm going to have _fun _with this one_.


	2. Chapter 2

2

It was the beeping that woke her.

Isabelle groaned; her face was one big hurt. She moved her arms up to feel her face (she was glad that she could move her arms at all, as opposed to the last time she had woken up in a new place), and found the entire left side of her face covered in bandages.

_Bandages?_ she thought, confused, _What are… fuck. _

The beeping grew more insistent, and Isabelle realised that it was a heart monitor. A face appeared in her vision, and she flinched.

'How are you feeling Isabelle?' asked a calm feminine voice.

_Not the Joker not the Joker._

'Where… where am I?' Isabelle croaked, doing her utmost to move her mouth as little as possible.

'Gotham General,' replied the nurse, and then said, checking her clipboard. 'You were transferred here after to you were found.'

Isabelle frowned at her, 'Found? Found where?'

The nurse looked uncomfortable, 'In the Narrows.'

Isabelle's eyes widened, 'The _Narrows_?'

She couldn't believe it. He'd left her in the fucking Narrows?! The Narrows was notorious for murders, mobs, petty crime and gangs. Hell, that's where her credit card had been stolen! It was not the safest place to be left unconscious for an extended period of time.

'Oh my God. Is there any… I mean, was I…' Isabelle trailed off, gesturing down below her torso.

The nurse didn't even blink, 'There are no injuries of a sexual nature.'

Isabelle relaxed back into the sheets.

'Now, Isabelle, are you feeling any pain?' the nurse asked, pen poised over the clipboard.

Isabelle thought about it.

'Just my face,' she replied, 'how bad is it?'

The nurse rattled off Isabelle's injuries, as if she was growing bored, 'There are three areas in which swelling has occurred, two on the centre of the forehead, and one to the right temple, but no fractures to the skull. The cut on your neck is shallow, and did not require stitches. The cut across your left cheek did not puncture the skin although it is quite deep. It required 29 stitches, and will scar.'

_That fucker_, Isabelle thought furiously, _he _maimed _me._

'Now, is there any family you would like to contact?' the nurse asked.

Isabelle glared at her in irritation. 'No,' she snapped, 'there is no-one.'

The nurse looked taken aback, and the pen teetered in her grip.

'In that case, I'll go and get the police,' she said hastily, and rushed out of the room, heels clacking on the linoleum floor.

_The police_? thought Isabelle, annoyed, _Don't I have enough to deal with?_

A man walked into the room.

'Good evening, Isabelle, I'm Lieutenant Gordon from the Gotham City Police Department.'

He extended a hand to her, and Isabelle shook it with annoyance.

'Look,' she said, 'I know you just have to do your job, but can't you just leave it for later? I'm in hospital.'

Gordon's face softened. He had a fatherly face, laugh lines beside his bespectacled eyes and a moustache on his top lip.

'I'm know this is hard for you, but we have to catch this man –'

'The Joker,' Isabelle interrupted. Gordon looked at her oddly.

'Yes, we have to catch the Joker before he causes any more damage. Is there anything you can tell me that will help us to find him?'

Isabelle thought.

'Not really. He knocked me unconscious in the bank, and then I woke up in a room, tied to a table. Then he did his work on my face, and dumped me in the Narrows. I suppose it's too much to hope that he left me right outside where he's holed down?'

Gordon frowned. 'Unfortunately, there was no trace that anyone had been there.'

Isabelle slumped back against the pillows. It had been a long shot.

'Now, I've spoken to your Doctor, and he has told me that you will be released tomorrow. I'll leave you to get some rest.'

With one last reassuring pat on her hand, Lieutenant Gordon left the room, closing the door softly behind him. Isabelle sighed, and settled back into the bed to try to get some sleep.

* * *

The news of Isabelle's kidnapping and mutilation had somehow reached the news, and she was continually faced with Mike Engel's smarmy face as the story was rehashed over and over again (the amount of crime within the city had unforeseeably dropped, either due to influence from the Batman or the Joker, and so the news casters had little else to report on). It certainly hadn't helped Isabelle's wish to remain out of the spotlight – she attracted a ridiculous amount of stares as she walked down the street, whether due to the bandages that still covered her face, or the fact that she was recognised by the photograph of her that had been circulated on every news station. Isabelle had taken to staying in her apartment all day, eating nothing but two minute noodles and pop-tarts, and watching the Lifetime channel. To hell with her job at the gym – someone else could man the desk at reception.

Isabelle sighed and stretched out on the couch, accidently knocking a few wrappers to the floor. She wasn't proud of the amount she had consumed over the past few days, but at the same time believed she was entitled to a few extra calories considering the week she'd had.

Isabelle probed the bandages, wondering whether they were ready to come off. She still hadn't seen the damage the Joker caused to her face, and she was pretty sure she didn't want to. The look on the doctor's face as he changed the bandages had been enough for her. Isabelle felt tears well up in her eyes, and she rubbed them away angrily with her fist. She'd had _more _than enough time to get over this! It wasn't as if she was going to die! There were so many people who were much worse off than her – it was only a little cut for God's sake. Only it wasn't only a little cut to Isabelle – she had never admitted it to herself (or to anyone else) but she was rather vain of her good looks and fine features. Now it was ruined, and that hurt far more than Isabelle cared to admit.

She pound her fist into a pillow trying to distract herself from the tears that were threatening to overflow.

_Pull yourself together._

The phone rang. Isabelle fumbled for her mobile, nestled between the couch cushions.

'Hello?' Isabelle asked cautiously, gathering up the wrappers on the floor as if the person on the end of the line could see the state of her apartment.

'Isabelle!'

'Simon?' Isabelle asked excitedly. Simon was an old friend from college, and he was the only buddy she had kept up contact with after she'd dropped out.

'Is that you I've been seeing on the news?' he asked, his voice dropping. She could practically see him running a hand through his hair and frowning as he spoke.

Isabelle sighed, 'Yeah. I'm fine though, before you ask!'

Simon chuckled, 'I wasn't going to ask. You've always been tough.'

Isabelle grinned, although he couldn't see it. He was right – she _was _tough, and she wasn't going to let a little cut stop her. She was almost embarrassed at the thought of the state she had been in just a moment ago. The scar could be covered in foundation – the miracle of makeup – and it wasn't as if the Joker had any reason to come looking for her. She had been a moment's fun, a whim, and then he had gotten bored and dumped her on the sidewalk.

'So what's up?' Isabelle asked, collapsing back down onto the couch and throwing a leg over the side.

'Well, I'm in town for a fundraiser over at the Wayne Foundation Building – you know, Bruce's crowd.'

Isabelle scoffed - of course she knew Bruce's crowd. Him and his idiotic friends were constantly splashed over the pages of magazines that she refused to lend value to by buying. The last time she'd paid any attention to Bruce Wayne was when he'd burnt down his home, the beautiful Wayne Manor, with his drunken antics.

'Jeez, Simon, why don't you just hang out with a flying rodent, you'll probably find better conversation.'

Simon laughed. 'He's really not that bad, Isabelle.' He paused. 'I actually have a huge favour to ask.'

Isabelle cocked an eyebrow. Last time he'd asked her for a favour she'd ended up stark raving drunk and half naked at a spontaneous surprise birthday party.

Simon seemed to sense her train of thought. 'Don't worry, Isabelle, you won't need to dance on any tables this time. Well, not unless you want Wayne & Co. looking up your dress.'

'Are you serious?' Isabelle said flatly. 'I am not coming to a Wayne fundraiser with you. Especially not with the publicity I've had lately.'

'Please,' Simon wheedled.

'No way.'

'Aw, come on Bells.'

Instantly Isabelle tensed, the hand not holding the mobile clenching reflexively. '_Don't call me that_,' she hissed. She couldn't stand the old nickname now. The Joker had used it, defiled it, just like he had her face.

Isabelle heard Simon's startled intake of breath at her tone, and immediately felt bad. He couldn't have known, it wasn't his fault.

'Sorry,' she sighed, picking at the hem of her pyjamas, 'I just don't like that name anymore.'

Simon sounded perplexed, and a little hurt. 'Ah, ok. No more nicknames, got it.'

_Damn it all to hell. Now I've hurt his feelings. Ah, fuck, I'm gonna have to do it._

'So when is this thing? Because I'm going to need time to find a dress.'

* * *

The elevators of the Wayne Foundation Building were just as ridiculously stylish as Isabelle had expected. Her equally ridiculous heels were sinking into the plush carpet, and she could see herself reflected in the huge gilt mirror. She wasn't complaining though. She looked _good_. The dress was long and black, with a plunging neckline and a hem that breezed pleasingly around her ankles as she walked. Her dark hair was straightened and pulled back into a high tight ponytail. Isabelle wasn't entirely sold on her makeup, though. The foundation didn't quite manage to hide the puckered skin on her left cheek. The scar was longer than she thought it would be, and she hadn't quite managed to hide her shock from the doctor when he removed the bandages two days ago. The doctor looked sad, and went out of his way to make sure she wouldn't suffer any long-term mental issues as a result of spending time as the Joker's carving board. Isabelle was even offered counselling, which she refused. She didn't refuse the lollipop though.

Isabelle looked at Simon next to her. If she was being honest, she had never quite got over a small crush that started in their college days. Devastatingly handsome, he had a roguish charm that people felt drawn to. It was no doubt why he had gained access to the inner circle in Gotham, even though he lived in nearby Metropolis.

Simon offered her his arm as the elevator doors smoothly slid open, and Isabelle felt her jaw drop.

'He _lives _here?' she asked Simon hoarsely as they stepped through the threshold.

Simon chuckled, 'Ridiculous, isn't it?'

Ridiculous wasn't the word. The penthouse was huge, it's size not hidden by the numbers of people milling around talking in soft voices as they sipped from their glasses. Tasteful furniture was scattered about, as well as high, circular tables covered in delicacies and expensive champagne. Two of the four walls were floor to ceiling windows, offering a beautiful view of the Gotham skyline. Isabelle grudgingly admitted to herself that no matter how much Bruce annoyed her, he certainly had an eye for architecture.

'What's this fundraiser even for?' Isabelle hissed to Simon as she accepted a champagne flute from a waiter.

'Harvey Dent,' Simon whispered back squeezing her lightly on the elbow and steering her towards the hors d'oeuvres.

_Harvey Dent? _Isabelle raised an eyebrow.

'The annoying billboard guy?'

'Yeah, him,' Simon answered distractedly, looking around the room. 'Where the hell is Bruce? He knows I can only stand these things if he's around to lighten the mood.'

As if on cue, a helicopter _whirred _over the penthouse, touching down on the helipad. Bruce cut a suave figure as he hopped agilely from the floor of the helicopter, helping down not one, but _three _women Isabelle assumed had to be models. She rolled her eyes. Everything about Bruce screamed douchebag. She watched as he deposited the women at a table.

'Sorry I'm late,' Bruce said, smirking slightly, 'Glad you started without me. Where's Rachel?'

Isabelle almost laughed when she spotted the woman that must be Rachel – she was cringing, embarrassed by the display that Bruce was making.

Bruce continued, gesturing at the woman, 'Rachel Dawes, my oldest friend. When she told me she was dating Harvey Dent, I had one thing to say… The guy from those god-awful campaign commercials?'

The crowd tittered, and Isabelle spied Dent off to the side shifting, embarrassed.

'"I believe in Harvey Dent". Nice slogan Harvey,' Bruce grinned, flashing him a thumbs up. 'Certainly caught Rachel's attention. But then I started paying attention to Harvey…'

Isabelle zoned out, uninterested, but managed to raise her glass in time with everyone else as they toasted.

'To the face of Gotham's bright future – Harvey Dent,' Bruce finished, looking Dent straight in the eyes as he took a sip of his champagne.

'Sheesh,' Isabelle muttered to Simon, 'is it just me or are you sensing some animosity between our host and the golden boy of Gotham.'

Simon grinned, 'It's not just you. I suspect Miss Dawes has something to do with it. Now I've gotta go make the rounds. Wanna come with?'

Isabelle looked around, 'Nah. I don't want too many questions about… you know.'

Simon squeezed her arm understandingly, and gave her a light peck on the cheek.

'See you in a bit,' he promised, before clapping a passing man on the shoulders and joining seamlessly in his conversation. Isabelle shook her head. Simon had a talent of being able to interact with and impress anyone he met. Unfortunately, it hadn't rubbed off on Isabelle, who herself had a talent for saying the most inappropriate thing possible without realising it. Besides, she didn't particularly want to be recognised from the news here. She had done a pretty job so far, skirting the edges of the party and standing with the left side of her face towards the wall, or resting her glass on her cheek. Isabelle ran a hand through her ponytail. Perhaps she'd get some more champagne.

Screams.

Followed by gunfire and a panicked silence.

Isabelle froze, her eyes wide and clutching her glass. She strained to see around the press of bodies.

'Good evening, ladies and _gentle_-men. We are tonight's… entertainment.'

Isabelle knew that voice.

_Oh, hell._

**Sorry to leave you on such a cliffy! I had a lot of fun writing this chapter, hope you all enjoyed it!**

**Review review review!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Please don't hate me for how long this has taken me. I have no excuse other than I'm lazy and unmotivated :/**

3

Isabelle shrank back against the wall, self-preservation overcoming the urge to see what was going on.

_Where the fuck is Simon?!_

'I only have one question. Where is Harvey Dent?' the Joker continued and Isabelle shuddered.

_Damn you Simon. You knew I hated fundraisers. Fuckfuckfuckfuck._

'I'll settle for his loved ones.'

'We're not intimidated by thugs,' came Simon's voice. Isabelle paled. What was he doing?! She started to push through the crowd, ignoring the voice in her head that told her she was being a complete idiot.

'No?' she heard the Joker murmur. 'That's brave.'

Isabelle was almost there. She could just glimpse Simon through the crowd, standing stock-still. She couldn't see the Joker. _Come on, almost there_.

'You show me a brave man,' the Joker continued, 'and I'll show you a _dead _one.'

He swung his gun up and shot Simon point blank. Simon fell backwards, a perfect circle in the middle of his forehead. Isabelle screamed and fell to her knees at the edge of the crowd.

The Joker cocked his head. 'I know that scream. If it isn't poor old _Bells_.'

Isabelle couldn't take her eyes off Simon, lifeless on the floor. She could hear a high-pitched sound, and then realised it was her. She crawled to his body, reaching out with shaking fingers. He was so _still. _He looked like he was sleeping, except for trickle of blood creeping down his cheekbone. Isabelle felt tears running down her face, but she didn't care that her makeup was running. She didn't care that the Joker wasn't even five feet away. At that moment all she cared about was the body of her best and only friend, lost to her. Because of _him_.

Isabelle lifted her head. 'You _bastard!_' she screamed, jumping to her feet. 'How _could _you!'

The Joker looked amused, which only made Isabelle angrier. Not thinking about the consequences, or the fact that he had a loaded gun in his hand, she made a fist and punched him in face with all of her strength.

Or at least she tried to.

The Joker caught her arm mid-throw and wrenched it against her back, pinning Isabelle to his chest. Isabelle shuddered, and stilled. She could feel a knife pressed against her neck and his breath in her ear.

'You know Bells, after our first meeting I thought you might have _wised up_,' he murmured with a slight giggle.

The knife tapped against her skin.

'Did you like my _carving_?' he asked.

'_Fuck you_,' Isabelle hissed. 'Why can't you just leave me alone?'

The Joker's grip on her arm tightened, and Isabelle whimpered, hot streaks of pain shooting down her shoulder.

'You do have an _attitude, _don't you? One day it might just get you _killed_.'

He turned his head to look at Simon. 'Or that guy.'

Enraged, Isabelle threw her head back. It collided with the Jokers chin, and he stumbled back slightly. She heard him laugh. 'A little fight in you. I like that.'

'Then you're going to love me.'

Isabelle could feel a sudden flurry of motion behind her and the Joker was wrenched away, the knife grazing her neck. Confused, Isabelle turned around.

_No way. Seriously?_

It was Batman. He slugged the Joker in the arm, disarming him, and grabbed the head of the henchman that came after him, using him as a ram to knockout the next one that tried to take a shot. Isabelle edged away, shaking, trying to get as far away from the fighting as possible. She could hear the movement in front of her, but her eyes were blurry with tears of shock and pain over Simon's death. Simon, whose body they were stepping on and around in their fight, his beautiful suit now dirty and torn. Isabelle felt perplexed. She felt like she needed to stop the fight and remind them that something had gone terribly, terribly wrong and that Simon was lying dead on the floor.

The fighting paused and Isabelle looked up at the sudden silence. Batman was standing directly in front of her, staring at the Joker. He had a woman in his arms, Rachel Dawes, and a gun pointed at her head.

'Drop the gun,' the Batman said, standing stock-still.

'Oh, sure,' the Joker said, breathing heavily, 'Just take off your mask and show us all who you are.'

Rachel struggled in his arms, shaking her head, her face ashen. The Joker raised the gun behind him and shot out the window, dragging Rachel behind him and holding her over the edge.

'Let her go,' said Batman gruffly, muscled tensed.

The Joker cocked his head. 'Very poor choice of words.'

And he let her go.

Screaming, Rachel dropped. The Batman dived out of the window after her. The Joker stared him, his head tilted to the side. His men, groaning, picked themselves up off the floor.

'What about Dent?' one asked, adjusting his mask, before popping his shoulder back into its socket with a slight groan.

The Joker hummed. 'I'm a man of my word,' he said, adjusting his sleeves. He noticed Isabelle at the edge of the crowd, hair askew and hands shaking. Isabelle looked up and met his gaze. The Joker motioned to a goon next to him. 'Bring the girl.'

_Fuck no!_

Isabelle frantically scrambled backwards into the press of bodies as the man in the clown mask came towards her. She was surrounded by terrified guests, but not one moved to help her. The goon snatched at the halter of her dress, dragging her back towards the elevator doors. Isabelle screamed in fury, writhing and twisting, trying to throw him off. The heels of her shoes scrabbled for purchase on the floor and her nails scratched uselessly at his hands. He threw her into the elevator, and the doors closed with a calm _swoosh_. Huddling in the corner, Isabelle locked her arms around her knees, her ponytail swinging to hide her face. Too late she heard the footsteps towards her, and felt a prick on her arm. Confused, she looked down. A hypodermic needle stuck out of the crease of her elbow. Her eyes blurring, Isabelle looked up at the Joker.

'You drugged me,' she slurred accusingly.

'Observant,' he replied, crouching down in front of her.

Vision fading and muscles going slack, the last thing Isabelle knew was the Joker's smudged makeup and the touch of soft leather on her thigh.

* * *

The ground was cold and hard as Isabelle woke up, groggy and disorientated. Her fingers felt rough concrete.

_I'm not tied to anything. This is already better than last time_.

The room was dark, but Isabelle could see faint outlines of furniture. She stood slowly, carefully, a faint throbbing in the arm where the Joker had stabbed her with a fucking needle. Stretching out her arms, Isabelle stepped unsteadily towards the biggest object. Her hands touched soft fabric - a mattress. She felt around the edge and found a lamp. Isabelle switched it on, and the room was lit by a dim, flickering light. Isabelle raised her eyebrows. She was in an unfurnished room, with no windows, one door, and no chance of escape.

_What the fuck._

Isabelle looked longingly at the mattress – even though she had just woken up she felt exhausted, and her muscles were still weak and wobbly. Isabelle couldn't allow herself to fall asleep though. She trusted the Joker about as far as she could throw him, and she wouldn't put it past him to kill her in her sleep.

A little voice in the back of her mind reminded her that the Joker had had plenty of time to kill her while she was unconscious, but that thought made her even more scared – what was he keeping her alive for?

More to the point, how long was she unconscious? She remembered him touching her thigh as she slowly drifted out of consciousness. Fear choked her.

_Fuckfuckfuck._

Isabelle's hand crept to the hem of her dress. She didn't _feel _sore. Her fingers reached her underwear, and probed. Nothing. She was fine. Isabelle heaved a sigh of relief.

'I hope I'm not _interrupting _something,' came a voice from the shadows, and the Joker stepped into the light. Isabelle screamed and stepped backwards, her feet hitting the mattress. She fell back, and the Joker chuckled, looking down at her.

'Nice view.'

Isabelle's jaw clenched and she glared up at him. His greasy green hair swung in front off his face, and his grease paint was faded and cracked. He appeared to be wearing the same clothes as he was at Dent's fundraiser. This gave her hope; she probably hadn't been out long if he was still wearing the same clothes.

'What the fuck do you want with me?' she hissed, struggling into sitting position in front of him. He chuckled

'Well the boys wanted a plaything and you looked lonely,' the Joker said, stretching out his scars in a hideous grin.

Isabelle slapped him across the face. Hard. He fell backwards slightly before he caught himself.

_Crap. Why would I do that? Why didn't he stop me like last time?_

Isabelle scrambled backwards to the other end of the mattress, breathing hard. The Joker lifted a gloved hand to his cheek, looking at her with an unreadable expression. She saw his pupils dilate.

_Oh shit._

Quick as a cat, he caught her hands with one of his and pinned them to the mattress, above her head. Isabelle shrieked and thrashed, kicking out at him. The Joker put at stop to that by sitting on her hips. She could feel the hardness of his erection, and she squeezed her eyes together, disgusted.

'Get the _fuck _off me,' she hissed. The Joker grinned, amused.

'You are brave, aren't you. You do remember what happens to _brave _people, don't you.'

Tears pooled in Isabelle eyes as she remembered Simon. Whimpering, she wriggled underneath him, trying to free herself. The Joker ground into her.

'Keep doing that,' he murmured, closing his eyes.

Repulsed, Isabelle froze. His eyes snapped open, bringing his gloved fingers to her hair, tucking a strand away behind her ear.

'Who was he anyway?' he asked conversationally, patting her lightly on the cheek with his spare hand. 'Was he your _boyfriend_?'

'_Fuck you_.'

The Joker shook his head. 'No, no, not _boyfriend. _Was your love _unrequited_, then? Poor, pathetic _Bells_.'

Isabelle cursed him with an eruption of expletives that she had not previously known she possessed. The Joker chuckled, amused with her outburst. She struggled to free her hands, but he was much stronger than his lanky frame would suggest, and her attempts were useless. The Joker murmured, 'You certainly have got a mouth on you, don't you? Curse at me _one more time _Bells.'

Isabelle heard the threat in his words, but couldn't help herself, '_Fuck you_, let me go!'

The Joker gazed down at her, his eyes unreadable.

'I think it's time you met the boys. Get acquainted, like.'

_Oh fuck. Fuck, me and my big mouth_.

Still holding tightly to her wrists with one hand, with the other the Joker grabbed her long hair in its ponytail, and dragged her up to standing. Swaying slightly in the heels she was still wearing, Isabelle's hand went to her scalp, and she twisted, trying to free herself. The Joker didn't even notice.

'Come on,' he said, dragging her towards the door. Isabelle dug her nails into his gloves, but he didn't seem to feel it.

'Let me go, you fucker,' Isabelle swore, her teeth gritted. The Joker ignored her. Her heels scrabbled for purchased on the cement floor, but he was walking too fast. She hooked a leg around the doorframe as they passed it, and the Joker grunted, amused. With one hard yank her leg lost its hold and she stumbled head first into the wall opposite. Isabelle moaned, 'I don't think my head can take much more of this.'

The Joker barely looked at her as he continued pulling her down the hallway. He reached the door at the end and paused. Isabelle could hear sound filtering through the thin wood of the door. A television was on, and the sound of pool cues hitting marble balls was accompanied by the clink of glasses. The Joker turned to her slowly, and grinned, showing all of his teeth.

'Come and meet my boys,' he said, and Isabelle whimpered as he gave her hair a hard yank. He shoved the door open and dragged Isabelle through the opening.

**Enjoy the chapter? Leave a review (I like reviews) **


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